


The Smell of Salt

by peenwolf (cissues)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, moping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-17
Updated: 2012-09-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 10:51:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/514458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cissues/pseuds/peenwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek can smell it from half a mile away.  The smell of arousal and alcohol and salt and shame (which is a very distinct smell from what he can make of it) and he easily traces it to the very house he was secretly praying for it not to be wafting from.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Smell of Salt

**Author's Note:**

> I'm pretty sure this was my first finished Teen Wolf fic. It's a little choppy and weird because it never really had any sort of destination and I was kind of drunk when I started writing it (by kind of I mean really drunk), but I hope it's at least kind of okay!

Derek can smell it from half a mile away. The smell of arousal and alcohol and salt and shame (which is a very distinct smell from what he can make of it) and he easily traces it to the very house he was secretly praying for it not to be wafting from.

He’s sure his face is contorted into some equally confused and disgusted expression as he stares at the open window from the side yard of the Stilinski residence. The smell of alcohol almost overpowers the smell of everything else that is Stiles, which has, embarrassingly, been cataloged perfectly in his head. There’s no way he could mistake the underlying scent of Axe spray and medication. He sighs, he’s sure he’s sighed a lot in the past twenty minutes, but he sighs extra heavy now because he knows that there’s a problem. He can hear the muffled sobs so clearly -- honestly, he’s sure even a human could hear it from where he’s standing -- but he’d known Stiles was crying ever since he picked up the scent.

Clinging to the windowsill of a seventeen year old boy’s room, Derek tries not to feel creepy, but he fails and gives up trying to be mentally healthy (not that he hadn’t years ago, but he’s been clinging to the hope that maybe there could be some recovery made). “Stiles.” He says as he heaves himself through the open window. The voice obviously catches the boy off guard, and instead of flailing uselessly like he usually does, Stiles falls bodily onto the floor and lets out a weird noise that Derek chooses to ignore.

“Of course you’re the one that comes!” The teen’s voice is dripping with sarcasm and dread. Derek can hear the unstableness of the words. He can not, however, see Stiles. He can see the boy’s arms as they gesture above him on the floor and he closes his eyes for a moment. “Stiles, I could smell you from half a mile away. Something’s wrong.”

This time, the teen hauls himself into a sitting position, fingers gripping the edge of the bed. This is when it all kind of hits Derek. Previously, he’d had the impression of moody-teenager-gets-emotional-about-stupid-shit, but now he sees the anguish in Stiles’ face, the red in his eyes and nose and ears, and the tears staining his face from his eyes on down. This isn’t the face of some overly emotional teenager. This was the face of someone going through intense emotional turmoil.

Derek notices the bottle on the bedside table, a bit surprised at the lack of contents. “You finished an entire--”  
“It was kind of half-empty when I got it.” Stiles slurs, pulling himself up with some effort. Derek moves quickly to hold him upright. “Fuck, my head hurts.”  
“Yeah it’s because you’re stupid and finished an entire bottle of rum.” Derek supplies as he helps Stiles sit on the edge of his bed. He bats away the hands, but drops his head shamefully. “I just... my life really sucks, okay?” He glances up through those fucking lashes and wipe away the gathering moisture. “I’m surrounded by fucking werewolves all day who have this incredible power and they still find reason to complain and complain and complain when I don’t even have a mom and I’m practically babysitting my dad and them and every other one of my friends, human or not, and I get literally no thanks for it. At all. I’ve been pining after some girl because I thought it’s what I was supposed to do, but now I realise she’s just amazing and I would give my left nut to be her friend.” He looks meaningfully at Derek. “Friend. It’s been a really fucking long time since I’ve thought about being romantically involved with anyone. When I say really fucking long time, I mean really never.” And then he makes some obscure gesture at Derek. “Until you show up with your perfect hair and your pretty eyes and your ability to keep in all the shit despite it all and it’s just kind of like come on. Give me a fucking break. Just because I like guys doesn’t mean I actually want to.” He finishes his rant by settling Derek with this terrible little look, as if he blames the man for everything wrong in his life, before falling backwards onto the mattress unceremoniously.

He’s facing away from Derek, but he knows that the boy is crying again. “And of course it has to be you. You with your total lack of interest, you with your asexuality, you with your drooling fangirls.” He wipes at his eyes. “It’s like the universe decided to take a shit on my life.”

Derek’s not really sure what to say. He’s not sure if he should reach out and comfort Stiles in the pack way he knows how -- physical contact and reassuring words -- or the human way he’s pretty inept at -- talking things through. He chooses the former and awkwardly slides his body around Stiles’. The boy freezes for a moment, but not a single pack member can refuse the skin bonding he’s offering (human or not), so Stiles eventually turns to bury his wet face into Derek’s dry shirt and cry as their limbs become entangled and hands rub on backs and stomach and heads.

Finally, Derek decides to speak.

“You are the most important to me.” He murmurs into Stiles’ hand that’s pressed against his cheek. The boy’s face is still pointed away from him, but he can hear the breathing slow and the pop of saliva as his expression changes. “Without you, I wouldn’t have a rock, I wouldn’t have a family. You know that, Stiles, right? We are your family. We love you, we care deeply and strongly for you.” He pulls Stiles’ face so he could look into those unfair eyes. “I care deeply and strongly for you.” He presses his forehead against the teen’s before letting go of his face, allowing him to react. Stiles stays there, though, staring intently at Derek. Finally, his eyes flutter closed and he wraps a leg around Derek’s hip.

“We’re in the same boat, aren’t we?” He asks, stroking a patch of skin Derek’s not sure exactly of the origin. “Loved and lost. Sounds like a shit bargain now that I think of it, and now that we’ve moved past that, we love something else, but we don’t want to feel that loss again, right?” He pulls away and, again, stares at Derek’s soul through his eyes. “You love your pack, I love you.” He smiles in a way that makes Derek so endlessly sad, a way that pulls the edge of Stiles’ mouth like someone is trying to force it up. “We don’t want to lose again. We’re doing everything within our power to keep it intact, even if that means keeping ourselves emotionally detached, no matter how hard that is.” He moves the hand stroking the mystery spot to run through Derek’s hair. “It’s just really hard when I can barely control where my eyes go and you’re pressed against my cock.” He laughs humourlessly, but Derek can feel the weight behind the message. Stop torturing me. Stop making me love you. Stop not loving me back.

The thing is, Derek doesn’t want to lose Stiles, and that want is so much stronger than food and shelter, than pack, even, to a degree. He huffs and pulls Stiles closer and tells him that. Stiles is silent and Derek speaks again. “Stiles, you are the most important to me.” This time, his words are deliberate and piercing. “If I lose you, I won’t--” He closes his mouth and swallows. Words aren’t his strong-suit, but he thinks whispering “I can’t.” to reiterate against Stiles’ neck gets his point across.

Neither of them talk again. They fall asleep (Stiles falls asleep, Derek has a few naps in which he wakes up every hour or so from) and when they wake up, Stiles has a pounding headache and a surprisingly sharp memory of the night before. Stiles goes to the bathroom and doesn’t come out for two hours, both of which Derek stays on the bed, playing with loose strands of blanket. He can hear tears and smell the salt and the vomit. Finally, Stiles comes out, smelling minty and clean and angry, and moves easily and deliberately to Derek, who’s stood up by then.

“Say it.” He says, finally, eyes still a little red and bloodshot.

Derek knows what he wants, but he plays dumb. “What are you talking about, Stiles.”

He receives a smart smack on the cheek and a pointed glare. “Say it or leave and we never talk about it again and we forget how important we are to each other.”

Derek stares for awhile (he’s getting really good at that) before making an angry noise. “Fuck, I love you, Stiles. I need you. I need you to love me, just as much as I need to love you.” Derek grinds out, but it’s as honest as he’s ever been.

There’s more silence, but then he has a dopey, smiling, hungover teenager clutching the side of his face as they kiss. He finds his hands on Stiles’ hips later, but for now, all he can focus on is the warmth of Stiles’ lips and face from the alcohol’s effects, the feeling of chewed-down fingernails digging into his shoulders and the obvious inexperience of both parties. However, they make it work to the point that they’re both pressed as close to each other as possible and moaning a little and trying to get closer.

“Stiles, I need you.” Derek says again, breaking away from the other boy. “I need you more than anything.” Said other boy counters, nuzzling Derek’s jaw lovingly. “You know you can’t ever stop needing me, or else I won’t have much of a use anymore.” Stiles blinks up at Derek who shakes his head.  
“You are the single-most useful human being on this planet and don’t you ever fucking forget that.” Derek insists, poking Stiles’ chest, who promptly pushes it away. “Let me be a teenager for a second and pretend that you’re the only important thing to me for like ten seconds.” He protests. They laugh and kiss and eventually they become something else but for now they’re just important to each other. Compatible gears in a machine, hard to replace or move. Stiles will eventually compare them to a harddrive and the blahblahbites or some shit that Derek definitely doesn’t understand, but knows is meant to be sweet and adorable. He doesn’t let Stiles live it down for months. Stiles sends an audio recording of Derek singing in the shower to the entire pack to make up for it. They chase each other around with threats and whispers but eventually they fall and pick each other back up because they’re each other’s “one and only”.  
Derek doesn’t let Stiles live that down, either.


End file.
